


Gift of Fate

by 99BottlesOfBeerOnTheWall



Category: Critical Role
Genre: Gen, Mild Spoilers for anyone REALLY far behind, RQ pov, fluff i guess?, god everything hurts, idk - Freeform, im are emotion ok?!, recent events have me fucked up and this is how I'm coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 19:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11447085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99BottlesOfBeerOnTheWall/pseuds/99BottlesOfBeerOnTheWall
Summary: He truly was a work of art, something delicate and perfectly balanced on the edge of the brink. Her champion, all her own: this half elf that danced with Death.





	Gift of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> A certain *hem* event has recently rocked my world, and prompted me to post a little something about the Raven Queen and Vax, I've been sitting on for ages. Because hey CONFETTI! It's suddenly relevant again. Isn't it Magical!!!  
> And I may or may not be coping super well with...things...(who cried herself to sleep at two in the morning, absolutely traumatized? Certainly not me)...

The Raven Queen knew of Vax'ildan long before the tomb. 

He was different, like a little beacon in a world of unlit lamps, that only she could see. And she did see. She could see all ends. She was the end herself. But not all came true, not all were chosen. Threads could twist and tangle, paths could turn aside, channels turned away from the inevitable ending. And Vax turned aside so many times, denied her so many times, she couldn't help but notice him. Yes, she knew of him. 

He had always interested her.

At birth he came close. But that happened every day, all over the world. Children taken before they had even been given, mothers who died before their children would even know their name.  
This was twins, and a difficult birth. Doctors wrung their hands and babbled, a few of the local women who volunteered their help hurried back and forth, the mother tried so hard to hold on. And the Raven Queen came close. She was Called. 

He should have died right then, stillborn and lifeless before he even left the womb. But he turned, aligned himself in the womb so that the birth could continue smoothly, and his path twisted aside to delay the end. A fate that might have been. 

She came for many in the summer of Vax's eighth year. A spread of sickness that claimed many lives, bringing her new followers and naysayers in equal measures. The path of his life turned into the ending when he invited a sick beggar boy to sleep under the shelter of their chicken coop. Both the twins fell sick, and again she was Called, and again his path turned aside at the last moment. The sickness was resisted, and while she came for many who were near, Vax and his sister where never touched. 

The next turn aside was so against the proper channel, she couldn't help but take notice. Their mother received a letter, the fateful communication that Syldor would take his children from her. Had Vax read the letter and found the source of her tears, instead of turning his concern to comforting her, he would have taken his sister and run. Hid until the danger was past, and their father would never have even seen their faces. 

They would have stayed with their mother, briefly happy, and would have ended their lives in mediocrity, scorched by dragon fire. But he comforted her, and when Syldor came they were unprepared. They went with him, and again, the Raven Queen was denied. 

She came for the mother, and carried her across the void, a loving guide to shelter the woman's soul. But the twins were not there. For they were safe in Syngorn, and didn't even know. 

When they ran, it didn't take her long to become truly aware of him. There were so many possible ends, that his lifeline was constantly twisting, constantly changing and dancing. Weaving a deft and sure path through such a multitude of threats that she couldn't mistake his skill for anything other than skill. And all so unconscious, it was a marvel. Avoiding death by the day, by the very hour, while he was yet totally unaware of it. 

When he chose to avoid one street and take another, his life was saved. When he generously paid five gold instead of two, he was spared. When he walked on one side of a street and not the other, when he chose to join the Clasp instead of fight them, when he chose one tavern over a cheaper option. At every possible death his fate glanced aside, and she watched him. There were others of course, other Fate Touched, but none tested their path so constantly as he did. She couldn't help but be intrigued. 

Then for the first time, he truly came close, so near she was Called again. Like she hadn't been since his birth. When just seconds could change everything, the ripple effect of her work reaching out to touch everything within reach, undetected and undeniable. 

He fell, in a cave deep in the underdark. All his skill, all his endurance, all his uncanny luck not enough to save him, and he succumbed. To heat, and fire, and a multitude of wounds. And just as always, he eluded her yet again. Friends saved him, hands pulled him away, the fire only grazed him, and he was spared. 

She was not one to inflict death cruelly. To end what was not destined to end. But this began to feel more like a dance, a game, a fisherman struggling to lure in their elusive catch. 

At their next meeting she was ready. More present than she'd been in hundreds of years. And she was aware, long before that. Watching as every channel snaked it's way toward this one, a nexus point of possibility, where every choice no matter how small lead to the final ending. 

She watched him weave and dance. Always so deft even now, in avoiding lesser deaths: discovery in the hallway, a killing curse in the bedroom, the agony of being drained bloodless. But with every ending avoided, the net drew tighter. 

The window broke, he jumped from the hight, a word for death ringing out through his earpiece, then Lady Briarwood took her toll. With her spells, her disrespect, her perversion, and the reek of undeath in every corner of her thoughts. An insult to the Raven Queen herself. 

He fell, thoughts blooming in the aether before her like a flower that blew and faded in a mere instant. A prayer channeled in the last moment, as she stood over him on the grass. Not for her, but a plea to Sarenrae, that embodiment of mercy that shielded so many. But the goddess stepped aside, for this was Her domain, Her calling, and no other could claim the right. She was Called again, watching, already reaching out to claim him.

Like a miracle, a benediction, he turned aside from her. 

Threads pulling his back from the brink, another shift. And she watched. It was all she ever could or would do, was watch. Watch the world as it rotted away, and she the end that claimed it. An endless being, that would be deathless, until she herself died with nothing left to consume. 

His rush into danger was almost as wonderful as his flight from the final end, just as headstrong and instinctual. Nothing took greater command than the desire for danger, and he followed it like an inevitability. Another nexus point, laden with possible endings, as Vax blindly threw himself into danger and rescued Cassandra. 

The power of Fate in the room was such a tension, she could lend her attention to nothing else, surging with the power she hadn't felt since times of War. 

The girl was close, so close the Raven Queen could almost feel her, brought to the very edge of the void. And another twist, the coil of Vax's Fate around Cassandra's, and he warped her lifeline. Another death stolen from Her. The last of his strength expended on protection and fierce offense, he too yielded. Standing so close to the edge of the void.

But his luck held, and she released him. 

It was the professor that met the final end instead. At the end of a bullet, on his knees in a corner, dominated and silenced. A death perverted. She exerted her power, but there was nothing for her to find, nothing to shelter and transport. 

The Shadow had him first, and she could do nothing but yield. One soul she couldn't claim. For if the young human, with his reckless desire for vengeance, his perversion and mutilation of other lifelines, desired the Creature's presence...It was not in her power to banish such an Abomination...

Then the Tomb. And when she was called, it was for a death that was truly her doing. She exerted her energy, taking Vex'ahlia in an instant. And the shape of her soul...like laughter in the grass, like the warmth of fallen leaves, like sunlight caught in a rippling stream...She loved her ward like she did all her children, a delicate and vulnerable creature to be safeguarded.

But she was contested. They gave what they could, and she, still watching, still present, could feel their need. Already the irreversible touches of her gift, spreading from the broken lifeline to those still uncut. 

"Take me instead. You raven bitch." 

It was irreverent and scornful, flung at her with venom. But she Existed, would always exist, as long as there was such a thing as life itself. Such insults had no offense for her. The gift offered far outweighed the discourtesy of the presentation. 

Such a gift, offered by one who couldn't possibly begin to comprehend the worth of what they offered. The cost of what that would mean. A soul, offered to death, was dead to everything but death itself. 

He offered the gift, and she accepted. Finally manifesting before him: the quarry that had evaded her for so long. She revealed herself for him, and the two of them Saw, knew the other. 

She claimed his gift, and she felt his shudder, still standing at a distance yet she was so aware of him...Taking his gift, she released her influence over Vex'ahlia, and drew back. Content to wait.

Another lifeline he had twisted away from Death. 

When he came to her in the temple at last, he came to touch the center of her, he came to find the end. An abyss laid before him from the moment she accepted his gift, for she was Death, and when she called, even he would have to come. There was nowhere he could run from her. 

Yielding at last, to the cold, to the blood, to the Abyss she placed before his feet. He died, in her arms, in her embrace, in her temple, in her communion. But more than death as she claimed him finally, embraced his soul in the darkness, and met him at last. 

She remembered this feeling. 

There had been others. Other champions, other gifts, other sacrifices of devotion. But like all Life itself, he was just as different as he was the same. When she reached out and touched his face, when he gave himself completely, when she knew his soul. 

And he was like a wind blowing at midnight, like the velvet of stars, like the chill after rain, like the whisper of snowfall in perfect stillness. He was the scorching heat of life's last gasp, the iron edge of blood and blade and bone. He was beautiful. A fractured image captured in a broken mirror. Far more beautiful than he would ever know or believe. 

Her champion...so breathtakingly beautiful. And all for her. Her's to hold, Her's to guide, Her's to claim. His dance with death wasn't finished yet. The heat of his soul would still flit just outside her reach, so near, but not within her grasp. Through more dangers than he could count. 

But it wasn't the contention of a clever fish with his patient fisherman now. It was the elusive dance of a romance. Hanging just beyond her reach, while she waited for her lover to come to her. So careful to cherish him, like the fragile weakness of a shy animal that came to her for affection, as she guarded him jealousy.

And she waited, for he would come. She was patient, and he: her champion, her child, her Fate Touched...he would come.

She was Calling....


End file.
